


captain of what, again? | grand army au

by ariamore



Category: Grand Army (TV 2020), Grand Army (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Bisexuality, F/F, F/M, Grand Army - Freeform, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Internalized Homophobia, Lesbian, Rape/Non-con Elements, Series, Violence, What-If
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:47:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28419360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariamore/pseuds/ariamore
Summary: “I’m sick of this.”“I’m sick of you.”Joey’s lips, forming a grin that plays into her pale eyes. Then, Joey’s whisper.“You liked it.”
Relationships: Dominique Pierre/John Ellis, Joey Del Marco/Dominique Pierre, Joey Del Marco/Tim Delaney
Comments: 1
Kudos: 18





	1. Chapter 1

Joey’s lips, forming a grin that plays into her pale eyes. Her fingers curling around the hem of Dominique’s shorts, the train rushing through the void, vodka in Dominique’s mouth and Joey’s tongue, breaths hot and breaths linked, wind whipping at their hair and the metal of the track screeching with them. Then Joey’s whisper, “ _You liked it.”_ Dominique can’t speak yet— she’s lost in Joey Del Marco's voice, in _Joey_ , and the fact that she’s wearing that fucking _shirt_ again— the “Free the Nipple” shirt, the shirt without a bra, the goddamn shirt that made Dominique burn at first glance, beyond anything she had ever known. But, first, there’s this.

“You’re the captain of what, again?”

“ _Fuck_ you.”

That’s what Dominique wants and _needs_ to say, but she stays silent instead. First, there’s anger. Anger, white-hot and black, biting at her from the inside and she bites back at it, staring straight at Joey’s pale, defiant eyes, full of sky and full of herself. _You’ve got everything in a goddamn silver platter_ , Dominique wanted to tell her. Some _of us actually work for a living. Some of us weren’t born in a cradle of privilege._

_Some of us have to take every single thing seriously, because it’s— it’s all we’re allowed to do. And we—_

Her last thought is split as someone yells out, _Dom_ , _practice’s started!_ and Joey Del Marco disappears out of sight before Dominique can finally figure out what to reply. All that’s left of her is the sound of metal against metal, as she slams the door to the girls’ changing rooms without another word, without looking at Dominique twice.

Then, resentment. _She thinks she owns the halls and the classrooms and— the whole goddamn school_. Resentment cracks through when Dominique dribbles the ball to the other end of the court with impossible ease, throat burning with effort, without looking at anyone— because, if there was _one_ thing Joey Del Marco couldn’t tear away from her, it was the basketball court. It belonged to _her_. Dominique, about to slam the ball against one of her opposite teammates’ skull for getting in her way, freezes when Sonia’s yell breaks through the air.

“Dom, _chill_ —! You’re going to get a _time-out_!”

It stops her dry. Ally stares up at her with round, almond-brown eyes that Dominique had confused for pale blue— for Joey’s. Ally’s cheeks, stained red with perspiration, make Dominique stagger back and release the ball to bounce dryly on the court.

“Fuck— Ally, I’m sorry,” Dominique forces out,puffing out a breath and drawing in her upper lip with her tongue-tip, tasting sweat. Coach Reynolds wolf-whistles and everyone’s eyes turn to her. “I didn’t mean to do that.” _Or try to_.

“S’okay, Dom…” Ally manages, still looking a little dazed even after Coach Reynolds yells, _everyone, to the showers!_ And the bell rings. Dominique’s about to follow the rest of the team, but then the coach is gesturing at Dominique and calling her name. Now, this is the thing about Leslie Reynolds. She’ll take _no_ shit from anything or anyone— and she’ll read you before you can even _blink_.

“Pierre, what happened back there?” Her amber eyes are round, searching Dominique’s— concern, full. Now, Reynolds _also_ gives her students the chance to explain themselves. If only once.

“Nothing, I was just—” Dominique gestures vaguely at the court, at the exit door that leads to the hallways and the classrooms. “I’m just a little stressed, I guess.”

“Midterms?” Coach Reynolds peers more closely, and for a heartbeat, her eyes reflect Dominique’s. “We’ve all been there, Dom. Sleepless nights, coffee without any breaks—” she pauses, and adds, more carefully, “You can always talk to someone, if things get too intense to handle.” Another pause, and a chuckle. “I don’t want our future captain’s game to change. It’s already outstanding as it is.”

— _Captain_? The word hits Dominique— the head of a train at full-speed, right between the ribs.

“Captain?” She echoes, looking up at Coach Reynolds to make sure she didn’t imagine it. But Lilian was nodding, and even smiling a little— which she never did. “Coach, I promise— I _promise_ I’ll do better,” Dominique blurts out immediately, lightness filling her from the inside out, making her forget about the sweat and the exhaustion and everything else. “I _swear_ you’ll have the best basketball player you’ve ever seen—”

“I know, Dom, I know.” Coach Reynolds chuckles, and then signals in the direction of the girls’ changing room. “Go freshen up, now— I don’t feel like writing any slips today.”

“Coach— _thank_ you.”

And Dominique’s still dazed, when her coach says, _there’s nothing to thank, it’s all you, Dominique_ — _you and the ball._ For once, Dominique can't think about anything else, not even when she almost stumbles against something— no, some _one_ — John Ellis— _shit_. Of all people.

“Ey, you’re Dominique, right? From trig in the afternoons?” His head tips, and his dark eyes are all warmth and friends and curious. Like any other girl at the sight of John Ellis— Dominique smiles.

“Yeah, that’s— that’s me, trig, yeah,” Dominique replies, and her cheeks immediately heat up because _what kind of answer is that_ — until John Ellis chuckles, and he nods.

“Y’know, Mr. Jacobs would’ve had my head if you hadn’t raised your hand yesterday,” John Ellis admits, and he runs a hand through his short hair, almost carefully, but always effortless. “Anyways, I wanted to thank you for that, and, uh—” he smirks, “and I should probably get to bio before Ms. Martens closes the door on my face. I’ll see you later, yeah?”

Dominique was vaguely aware that she answered something in return, maybe a laugh and something unintelligible and _he actually said he wants to see you later_ —

“Someone took their time!” Tamika’s amused yell greets Dominique as she walks into the girls’ changing rooms, and almost grimaces at the sight before her. She had, for once, forgotten all about Joey Del Marco— until, _of fucking course_ — the basketball team and the cheerleading team were obliged to share the showers and the stalls.

Joey was waving some kind of wrapper— no— a _condom_ , and then she was flicking it in some freshman girl’s direction. It lands next to her black boots at the same heartbeat in which Dominique slams the metal door shut, and it’s Gracie who’s thanking Joey over and over. Dominique vaguely overhears the condom had been stuck inside of Gracie after sex with one of the guys in the swimming team.

“You’ve got a plan B, don’t you?” Dominique asks without looking at them, ignoring the discomfort flashing in the freshman girl’s eyes before she leaves. _That’s Joey Del Marco for you. Better get used to it_.

“Plan B? For what?” Gracie arches a brow.

“That shit’s used,” Dominique elaborates as she gestures at the yellowed condom on the floor, and she doesn’t understand _how don’t you get it yet_ but this is Gracie, and she’s friends with Joey Del Marco, so it adds up. “And with sperm inside of it, which obviously can leak. So, what I’m saying is, you should have plan B unless you want a slobbery thing calling you _mommy_ during bio and screaming at you during P.E.”

“Fuck,” Gracie whispers, eyes huge and her breathing quickens— “you’re _right_ — Joey, what the _fuck_ am I going to do with a—”

“Gracie, you’re _not_ pregnant,” Joey replies sharply, holding Gracie’s face with her palms at level with hers. “Look, just—”

In a heartbeat, an alarm blares through the air and cuts through whatever Joey Del Marco was about to say.

 _Students, please evacuate to the stairs. This is not a drill. I repeat, this is not a drill_.

There are screams and there’s the word _bomb_ being thrown around as everyone bursts out of the changing rooms without thinking twice, and there are teachers struggling to keep the peace but everyone’s too nerved to think straight and—

“It _is_ a bomb.” Joey’s voice catches Dominique’s attention and they’re the last ones to get out of the changing rooms, but Dominique scarcely hears her. Joey was staring at her phone, typing whatever into her messages, flicking a news article published three minutes ago.

She’s also wearing the shortest gym shorts Dominique has ever seen and she can’t help but look, if only for a split heartbeat, at the way cheerleading has shaped Joey’s legs. _No wonder she’ll be captain next year_ and Dominique has to stop herself right there and then because _what the fuck_? She didn’t just compliment Joey Del Marco. And she would _never_ ever let that slip out of her mouth.

“You didn’t have to fuck with her like that,” Joey continues as they’re crossing the hallway, avoiding shoulders and swinging hands catching bags and phones.

“I was just providing her with information,” Dominique replies plainly, and arches a brow. “You’re her dance captain, aren’t you? Maybe that’s something _you_ should be doing?” It sounded like a question, but it wasn’t.

Joey pauses to look at her, but she’s still walking. “Well, when I’m _officially_ voted captain in the spring, I’ll have to remember that.” She gives Dominique a pointed stare, _you’re the captain of what, again?_ is written all over it, but Dominique doesn’t blink as she thinks of Coach Reynolds’ words.

_I don’t want our future captain’s game to change._

She’s about to reply, to finally wipe that signature smirk off Joey Del Marco’s still sweaty, freckled face, when the alarms blare even louder and one of the teachers signals for them to _sit your asses down with the rest of the group before I suspend you both_.

Somehow Dominique ends up one stair higher than Joey, with Tamika and Sonia, and that’s good enough for her to cool down and put her headphones on to block out every other conversation.

“… Guys? I’m getting claustrophobic.”

Gracie’s voice reaches Dominique and she frowns, hearing her over the music. For some reason Dominique takes her headphones off when Joey doesn’t reply, a little curious as she watches her lean closer to Tim to whisper something right by his face.

 _She was like, ‘Oh, Joey, you’ve had an abortion. Tell me what it’s like_.’

Tim’s eyes narrow at once and Dominique barely registers his, _wait, what the fuck?_

“Yeah.” Joey’s voice is scarcely an octave higher. No one looks at them. “She thinks she’s pregnant, so she’s talking out of her fucking _ass_. So fucked.”

Dominique tries her best to ignore them like everyone else, and Tamika prods her to show her an article from The Guardian, with the word _bomb_ written all over. Joey and Tim’s conversation continues, but it eventually fades like everything else.

“Oh—! _Check_!”

Something bumps roughly against Dominique and she jolts, turning to glare at Joey, who’s mouth opens immediately after, half grin and half apology. There’s a tiny chessboard between her and Tim. “Oops— _sorry_ …” She stretches out the last word longer than necessary, but Dominique just turns around again, and Tamika shows a picture of an apartment room to her and Sonia.

After resentment, Dominique realizes, it’s hatred. And she’s not surprised, she’s everything _but_.

“Everyone’s going to that party after this shit, right?” Tamika whispers with a grin, and Sonia nods.

“Dude, who _wouldn’t_?”

“Anyways— after law school, I’mma buy a beach house in LA,” Tamika says, eyes full of certainty and a smirk across her cheeks. “And I’mma have all kinds of white staff to just dust my antiques and shit, get my _reparations_ ,” Sonia says something to agree, and Dominique laughs.

“How is John going to this thing tonight?” Sonia asks, eyeing Dominique amusedly. “This is gonna be some Vineyard Vines shit, Dom.”

“It doesn’t _matter_ ,” Tamika grins. “You gotta go.”

Dominique lifts her gaze from the pictures of the apartment to meet Tamika’s round look.

“If you wanna have your _Love and Basketball_ story, you have to put yourself in the room with your Quincy.”

“I have to watch the kids, though.”

It just slips out of Dominique, and it’s the truth, but Tamika frowns.

“But they’re not _your_ kids—”

“Mika, stop,” Dominique sighs, and the frown eases from Tamika’s face. “The fencing deadline is tomorrow morning. I’m going over there tonight, they have to get their gear.”

“Fencing’s _weird_ ,” Sonia hums.

“Colleges love kids who are good at weird sports,” Dominique tells her. “I got both the kids full scholarships, but we had to pay the registration fee—” she grins, “so I worked for the extra cash, and it’s child care _three_ days a week.”

“Mm, I see you feelin’ proud!” Tamika smirks and prods her shoulder, and Dominique laughs. She turns around, almost putting her phone into her bag, until—

“Hey!” Sonia’s head turns just as Jay hisses, “ _Get it!”_

“Give me my bag!” Dominique snaps, but the two boys are already shifting through it and everyone else is staring.

“Dude, she’s asking you to _stop_.”

Somehow, Joey’s voice makes her angrier.

“I don’t need you to speak for me,” Dominique frowns at Joey, and the blonde shrugs.

“Someone’s gonna come over here…” Some girl begins to say and Dominique is two seconds away from punching her.

“Can you mind your own business? I got important shit in there. I’m not in the mood for you two _dumbass_ sophomores to—”

But the two boys are flicking her wallet back and forth, across the air and over Dominique and Joey’s heads— and the students all around join in a dooming _oooh_ , as the wallet bumps against the metal rail of the stairs and falls down, down the void to the first floor from the third, lost in the crowd and the eyes and the hands—

“What’s going on here?” The teacher’s eyes are sharp and search Dominique’s as she reaches them— it’s Ms. Wilder, from anthropology. And her voice cuts through everything.

“I’m sorry, I— I dropped something down the stairwell,” Dominique blurts out, heart in her throat— _please let me go get it_ —

“Yeah, we’ll just go grab it for her real quick,” Jay starts, guilt written across his raised brows.

Ms. Gonzalez’s frown deepens. “This is not the first time we’ve had to speak to this group today.”

“We sincerely apologize,” Owen starts, sharing a round-eyed look with Jay. “We were— we were playing around.”

“They took Dom’s wallet out of her bag.” Joey’s standing next to her and Dominique seethes.

“ _She_ ’s not involved—”

But Ms. Wilder shakes her head, cutting Dominique off before she can finish. “Miss Del Marco, do you have pants?” Her mouth is drawn leftward in disgust and Joey appears to pause when Ms. Wilder’s gaze darkens. “Are these the _only_ clothes you have?”

“Yeah,” Joey replies with another shrug, “because I was at gym when the lockdown—”

“Oh, you’ll find _any_ excuse to put your body on display, right?” Ms. Wilder snaps, and Dominique doesn’t know what to say or if she even should _say_ anything— because Joey’s eyes look ready to choke at the anthropology teacher and vice-versa. Ms. Wilder’s arms cross over her chest and she looks around pointedly. “Does _anyone_ have anything Ms. Del Marco can use to cover herself?”

There’s a heartbeat of silence and it cuts through Dominique. _What the fuck—_

“Joey.” Tim’s arm stretches in her direction and he hands her his jacket. She takes it, but Dominique notices her fingers are trembling.

“So they basically steal Dom’s _wallet—_ ” she starts, her voice infinitely rougher as she glares at Ms. Wilder.

“We didn’t _steal_ anything—” Owen snaps.

“— and someone straps a bomb to themselves outside, but my bare _legs_ are the big issue?” Joey scoffs, never blinking, not once. “ _Wow_. Got it.”

“I am not going to have a political debate with you right now when we are all experiencing trauma,” Ms. Wilder retorts, and her brown eyes catch Dominique by surprise. “Ms. Pierre?”

Dominique takes a moment to realize she’s being spoken to. “They were messing around, and now my wallet’s gone.”

Ms. Wilder blinks, glances at Jay and Owen. “Well, that’s theft, guys. This will be written up. Dom, let’s go see if we can find it.”

Dominique’s throat bobs as she swallows, seeing the appalled look in the two boys’ eyes. She’s making her way through the crowd of students sitting across the stairs, following Ms. Wilder— and feeling Joey’s gaze burning at the back of her neck.

The intercom blares. _Attention, students and faculty. Thank you for your patience and cooperation during this terrible tragedy. After careful consideration, NYPD counterterrorism forces and emergency response teams have cleared us for immediate evacuation. Take care of each other, and be careful._

Dominique only burns further when her fingers finally curl around her wallet— and it’s completely empty.


	2. Chapter 2

“I shouldn’t be here.”

Dominique doesn’t say it, but she’s thinking it. Tamika and Sonia are pulling her through the bodies and the music and the neon lights, too drunk on something Dominique doesn’t want to ask about. Her little siblings’ scholarships— gone, just like that. All of Dominique’s sleepless nights working— gone, like fucking nothing. _No money for registering?_ There was no way she could get two hundred dollars for the next morning. _Don’t worry, we’ll clear that application out for you_.

It’s too late for her to protest or even scream when Tamika and Sonia stop, and John Ellis is standing in front of her.

“Hey, Dom!” His eyes aren’t unfocused, but there’s a red cup in his hand. “What’s up?”

“ _Dommo_ here,” Tamika slurs, the grin easily slipping from her face. “Wants to ask _you_ somethin’.”

“I don’t know what you’re—” Dominique starts, though weakly. But it’s too obvious, when Sonia mouths _p-r-o-m_.

“Well, I was— I was looking for you, actually,” John Ellis chuckles, running a hand through his short hair.

_And?_

Somehow she frees herself of Tamika and Sonia, and the “ _I’ll be back in a sec_ ,” works to leave John Ellis and reach the bar on the other end of the crowd, because Dominique can’t really breathe properly and _what the fuck was that?_ Prom was _months_ away. It would be on a weekday night, and in all likelihood, Dominique would be working. Especially after what had happened today. _I don’t even like him_. And, much quieter, at the back of her mind— _then_ , _what do you like?_

“Wow.”

The voice matches the impression on Joey’s face, who’s sudden presence makes Dominique’s breath halt and her shoulder blades tense because _when did you even get here_ but then— “Did you just brush _John Ellis_ off?” Joey laughs. “I should give you credit for that.”

It’s the cup in Dominique’s hand, the drink that Tamika gave her before she could hurry away. It’s the liquid inside, that’s almost finished, but it’s enough for Dominique to swallow. She’s not aware of the way it expands her ribs, makes her breathe.

“No, thank you.” Dominique pauses, wonders how Joey’s eyes are glinting even bluer under the neon lights. “I’m just not feeling like it tonight. I’m going home.”

“You don’t like him,” Joey says, and the way she says it makes it truer than what Dominique felt, and it shocks her for a split second. Either way, Dominique crosses her arms over her chest, arches a brow, and returns Joey’s look evenly.

“And _you_ know what I like?”

“I didn’t say that.” Joey smirks, deflecting the question faster than Dominique expected. “You should do whatever you like. Or nothing at all, if that’s what you prefer. But, either way,” she pauses, tilting her head in the direction of John Ellis’ disappearing frame across the crowd. “It’s not very nice to make him hang around you like that.”

“And I should listen to you,” Dominique asks, though it comes out like a statement, and she allows a tiny smile, more amused than anything else. “Because you’re the expert in this kind of thing?”

“Yeah, something like that.” Joey returns Dominique’s smile as if it were nothing, and this time, Dominique wonders how far would Joey _really_ go— just to prove a point. And she gets her answer before she can blink, when Joey’s voice cuts through the music. “Hey, Tim! Come over a sec.”

Joey’s grin deepens as the tall, ruffled-haired boy reaches their side of the bar, and she lets her jaw shift into an inviting smirk.

“Hey, what’s up Jo? I was—” His mild words are cut off as Joey’s fist pulls him by the collar of his shirt, and their lips meet halfway just as _Bodak Yellow_ rolls into the booming, electric sounds of The Weeknd’s _The Hills._ Something shifts inside Dominique, she averts her eyes just as Joey opens hers to give her a pointed look, then returns to Tim.

“You liked that?” Joey husks, a hair’s width away from Tim’s face. She snickers when he nods and says, _no shit, Jo_. Dominique tries to ignore the way her breath hitches in her throat when Joey’s eyes lock into hers.

“Will you get us some vodka?” She murmurs, not breaking away from Dominique’s gaze, and Tim appears more dazed by the second as he nods again and immediately turns away.

“See? We _both_ liked that.”

“Your point?” Dominique blinks, and then frowns.

“My point?” Joey pauses, stretches out her words at the same pace in which she leans closer into Dominique’s face. Her breath feels hot against Dominique’s lips, fairly tinged with alcohol as she adds, “No time was _wasted._ Not for him, not for me. Don’t waste yours, Dom. Bet there’s a better match for you, somewhere— _far_ better than John Ellis.”

For once, Dominique doesn’t know what to reply. As if on cue, Tim reappears and the red cups glisten with transparent liquid.

“I don’t—” Dominique starts when Tim hands her the cup, but he’s too focused on Joey to register her words.

“ _Yo_ , yo, yo! Listen _up_!” The voice jolts everyone to face the top of the stairway, where some senior guy is standing on a chair, cup in hand and the words _Grand Army Swim Team_ across his hoodie. “You know _what_?! You’re gonna need more than a fucking _bomb_ strapped to your chest to take _us_ down!” The screams are enough for Dominique to put down her cup. _I’ve had enough—_

_“Oh my God—!”_

_“He’s falling—!”_

_“Somebody help—!”_

And the guy— Luke— is pushed from behind. His body hits the floor with a sickening _thud_. Then—

“Jap Pussy— she killed our fucking _friend_!”

It wasn’t hard for Dominique to figure out who “Jap Pussy” was. The freshman girl’s face was twisted with horror, the same girl that had suffered from Joey thrusting a condom in her direction during practice. As soon as Luke gets back up and everyone cheers, Dominique takes it as her cue to reach exit.

“Hey,” Joey starts, more slowly, as if the liquor is moulding her words more than what she’s aware of. Dominique’s insides burn and _just turn around it doesn’t matter_ —

“I’m sorry about earlier.”

Now, _that_ makes Dominique stop. _Is she being serious_? She turns to face Joey, and something in her jolts when the blonde continues speaking. “If it makes any difference—” Joey draws out a ziploc bag from the bag at her hip, with green bills and cards. “Here. George and Luke caught it, when it fell to the first floor. Tried to keep it, too,” her nose wrinkles, “‘cause they’re George and Luke. But I made sure everything’s in there.”

 _Oh my God_ , Dominique pauses, takes the bag and checks the cards— and counts the two-hundred dollars _they’re still here_.

“Well. I’ll be around,” Joey shrugs, but before she can turn and leave, Dominique realizes she hasn’t said anything.

“ _Joey_ —” Dominique clears her throat, her voice sounding more intense than she’d intended it to be. “Thank you. I mean it. Seriously. This means a lot.”

“It’s cool,” Joey nods. She pauses, then a smile curls her lips. “So, now that you’ve got that ID back— how about another drink?”

Scarcely breathing, Dom returns the gesture. _What the fuck?_ But she’s too relieved to question herself, let alone question Joey’s smile.

* * *

“You like it?”

“Mm,” Dominique answers, and it’s a _yes_.

“How did you two meet?” Joey asks, and she’s clearly talking about John Ellis because, apparently, it’s the _only_ thing the Grand Army girls think about.

“Trig class, I think,” Dominique mutters after she gulps down what’s left in her cup. It swirls into her stomach, and she doesn’t feel much of her lower lip when she tests it with her teeth.

“Trig? Well, he’s not your type.” Joey sighs, resting her cup on the sink of the marble bathroom to run her hands through her mane of blonde hair. “Too mellow.”

“ _Mellow_?” Dominique laughs, surprised at the sound of it coming out of her mouth. But, more surprised by the fact that she just _laughed_ at something Joey Del Marco just said.

“What? I’m just guessing,” Joey counters, and soon smirks. After their laughter, a stretch of silence falls between them as Joey shifts her red cup on the marble top, and glances up at Dominique again. “But, seriously, though.” Her voice lowers by an octave.

That’s when Dominique realizes how close they’re actually standing. She could count the freckles on Joey’s face if she wanted to, but she was trying to find herself in the liquid blue of the blonde’s eyes.

“What do _you_ want, Dom?”

Her breath is hot, tinged with vodka and sweetened with syrup, and Dominique wonders if it would’ve matched the red of her lips.

“I don’t know,” Dominique whispers, but she doesn’t hear the reply, because Joey’s mouth is already dipping into her own and it’s the alcohol, it’s _The Hills'_ lyrics blasting through the door, making her think of _how fucking good_ this feels, she’s already going crazy, far more intoxicated than she’s ever been when Joey smirks into her mouth—

The bathroom door slams open like an explosion, and Dominique isn’t sure if she’s the one that jolted away first.

“The _fuck_ are you looking at, Jap Pussy?” Joey hisses, bristling as the freshman girl’s eyes widen when she sees them and Dominique’s pulse pounds through her skull. The freshman doesn’t reply, but rushes into the closest stall and locks herself inside instead.

“I should… I should go,” Dominique says slowly, taking her empty red cup with her. She’s too busy thinking of Joey’s lips that she doesn’t realize her hands are shaking until she closes the door behind her— and leaves Joey inside without waiting for an answer.

There’s a stretch of silence, after Dominique’s gone. Then Joey pulls one of the keys in her chain, and approaches the closed door of the stall. Her insides burn,as she begins to scrape the tip against the surface, metal screeching against metal, an unsteady line from beginning to end.

“You won’t say _shit_ about this, Jap Pussy,” Joey mutters, but her voice is loud, far sharper than the jagged teeth of the key. “And if you do, I’ll make your life a living hell— that’s a fucking _promise_.”


	3. Chapter 3

It’s 11:56 pm, and she’s waiting for the last train to the eastern area of New York. The city is as livid at night as it is during the day, if not more. People rush back and forth, hair and eye-bags a mess, the continuous rumbling sensation burning under every sole as the trains come and go— these tracks are New York’s arteries, pumping the city to life from underground. Dominique, somehow, feels caught in the middle of it all.

“Dom—! Dom, hey, _wait_.”

It’s 11:56 pm, and Joey’s hand is touching Dominique’s shoulder, making Dominique whirl around.

“What are you doing here?” There’s a kind of stiffening taking over her insides. Dominique frowns, as if Joey’s mouth and her eyes and her voice hadn't taken over her mind long before what happened at the bathroom.

“Going home,” Joey replies. She runs a hand through her honey-blonde hair, signaling at the yellow line ahead with a shrug.

“Really? But the party’s not over yet,” Dominique points out. Soon enough, Joey’s smile makes her burn more than she’d ever admit.

“It is, for me.” Joey shrugs and she’s already walking towards the platform’s edge. She certainly doesn’t look as if she just drunk another bottle of vodka by herself. “Besides,” she adds, a little lower, a little huskier, when Dominique reaches her side. “It’s no fun if you’re not there.”

There’s a pause, as Dominique doesn’t reply. With Joey, it’s not the first time she doesn’t know what to say, but there’s no room for her to say anything, when Joey pulls her by the hand after the train’s arrived, and Joey picks up her pace until they’re running, wind whipping at every direction until they come to a halt, at the very end of the train. There’s a glint in Joey’s eyes and a warmth in her hand even if it’s winter and New York is absolutely freezing— and it makes Dominique’s skin tingle with anticipation.

“What are you— what are you _doing_?” Dominique exclaims, when Joey’s hands curl around the handrails of the train’s rear, and leaps into the metallic ledge with the grin spilling all across her face.

“C’mon, Pierre! Are you waiting for an invitation, or what?” Joey smirks, and _just_ to get rid of it, Dominique jumps up after her.

Joey’s wearing this orange beanie, and her golden hair’s trickling over her shoulders as the train jolts to life. Dominique swears she can hear her own heartbeat over the screeching rails and see Joey’s face, smiling at her through the darkness of the first tunnel. They’re screaming by the next, and the next, and Joey’s laughter fills everything. Right now, it’s everything.

* * *

It’s dark, but New York is more livid than ever. It’s way past midnight, and they’re walking by restaurants and café’s and motels, between the 44th and 45th. Dominique lets her gaze travel across the yellow-green glow of the neon signs, burning through the mist. Somewhere along the line, Joey brought a cherry slushee with her, and her lips glowed red whenever she grinned in Dominique’s direction. And something twists inside Dominique when Joey points out, just as an afterthought—

“You’re staring.”

Dominique swears she’s redder than ever when she mumbles, _sorry_. But Joey smiles, finds Dominique’s left arm and links her own with it.

“I don’t mind.”

Joey’s hair is still blown by the air of the subway station, baby curls stretching in every direction, only subdued by the orange beanie over her head, and her pale eyes reflect New York’s lights.

 _I thought you hated me_ , Dominique thinks, whilst her heart ran at a pace of its own.

Joey’s laugh is enough to make Dominique stop, let out a breath she never realized she’d held in for so long. It’s the busiest hour of the night, people rushing in and out of buildings, casinos and hotels, bustling streets— and Dominique would often be caught in the middle of it all, if this were any other night.

But now, somehow, she’s _here_. With Joey, of all people. And now, she knows Joey is the only one that can make Dominique’s heart race like this.

“Dom?” She’s gazing at Dominique, not sideways but directly, and her fingers are warm when they lace with hers. Her voice becomes softer, then. “I never did.”

* * *

“You kissed my brother last night?” It sounded like a question, but it was a statement.

 _I just did it to prove a point._ The words almost slip out of Joey’s mouth, but the sound of the opening door catches her attention. Anna steps inside, then joins Joey at the bed with a puff. And Joey knows her best friend _too_ well— she knows the jealousy and the worry pricking at Anna, so she lets her phone fall to her pillow and sits up.

“You think I shouldn’t have?” Joey suggests, arching a brow more out of curiosity than anything else. Anna sighs, then shakes her head.

“Tim hates everyone, but he likes you. Actually _likes_ you. And I— what if you two argue? Who’s side am I going to have to take then?”

“Why would we argue?” Joey chuckles, prodding Anna’s shoulder. “You’re worrying too much.” A pause, and a thought. “Do you want me to stay away from him?”

“I don’t— _no_ ,” Anna sighs again, brows crossing her face. “Jo, I just want everything to be normal. I don’t want anything to change.”

Joey hums and gives her a reassuring smile. “It’s okay, Anna. I get it.”

She’d just done it to prove a point, anyways.

* * *

Somehow, it happens again. Not with Tim, though.

“You liked it,” Joey murmurs and grins, but not even the husk of her voice can make Dominique forget about the fact that Joey wasn't wearing a bra.

“Why the shirt?” Dominique asks instead of _yes_ , because it’s obvious both to her and Joey, and she’s actually curious, because Joey mentioned something about not being the only one coming without a bra to school, even if they’re an hour early from class, at one corner of the girls’ changing rooms. Dominique had to hide her surprise at how easily Joey helped them break into the school, convincing the guard that they needed extra practice at the gym.

“A statement,” Joey hums and says something that makes Dominique laugh. While she speaks, her fingers are curling around the hem of Dominique’s shorts, the grin already playing into her eyes.

It doesn’t stop there, but Dominique doesn’t question it. _I won’t if you won’t._ Joey’s breath is sweet against her lips. She’s making her way along the school’s main hallway when she catches Dominique’s eye, holding her gaze for a moment longer as she passes by the lockers. Tim, George and Luke surround her, roaring with laughter at something Joey just said.

If Tim’s looking at Joey more meaningfully than any other day, Joey doesn’t do anything about it. While they’re distracted and the rest of the students are busy with whatever, her wink crosses all the way towards Dominique, and catches her heart right when it skips.

Classes turn to days and days to weeks. They meet during training, between breaks, behind the infirmary— and Dominique finds herself in Joey’s eyes every single time. She doesn’t think of John Ellis, doesn’t really register what he tells her during trig, rushing out of the class as soon as the bell rings— and Joey’s waiting for her in the changing rooms.

“We’re working together for a physiology project, Mrs. Pierre,” Joey tells Dominique’s mother with a grin through the phone, and it’s clearly a lie, but the apartment, for once, is empty. That’s exactly what they wanted. Her brother and sister, they’re busy in fencing practice, and her mother, working. Dominique’s face burns like a spell when Joey cuts the call, meets her eyes, smirks— and takes off her shirt.

* * *

All it takes, is a couple of sentences.

_Dude, she literally threatened me in Jason’s party._

_I saw them— they were about to fuck in the bathroom. So fucked._


	4. Chapter 4

It’s thirteen minutes before the cheerleading team’s yearly autumn show at the football field, and Joey’s busy working through Dominique’s shirt.

“You couldn’t have picked something more difficult to undo?” She protests, but her voice is light and Dominique laughs at the glint in her blue gaze. At last, Joey huffs, gives up, and meets Dominique’s lips halfway as she rises.

“I _really_ like you, Pierre,” Joey murmurs through the kiss, like an observation just for herself.

“I know,” Dominique answers easily, as if everything Joey said didn't make her heart pound at its own pace. “You’ve told me before.”

“ _I really like you too, Joey._ ” Joey grins this time, even if she’s attempting to mimic Dominique’s most serious expression, she fails. “ _You’re so hot, Joey, it drives me crazy_.”

“Stop that,” Dominique laughs, prodding Joey’s shoulder with a hand. “You’re a _terrible_ actor.”

“Maybe,” Joey nods, gaze glowing as she leans into Dominique to say, “But I’m an _amazing_ kisser.”

Before Dominique can say anything in response, a whistle rings in the background, loud outside the empty changing rooms.

“It’s the warm-up,” Dominique tells her, and Joey makes a sound of disappointment without moving away from Dominique’s mouth.

“I’ve had lots of ‘em,” Joey mutters, then shrugs.

“You’ll definitely be picked as captain.” Dominique’s hands tangle into the blonde’s curls, they’re softer than ever. “There’s _no_ _one_ better than you.”

“No one, huh?”

It’s like Joey's suggestive grin is spilling into Dominique’s mouth, and she stumbles through her _I’m talking about the cheer team, dummy_ , and when she walks out a few minutes before Joey— she can’t stop smiling.

The sky is pitch-black, scattered with stars, and Dominique takes a moment to contemplate the silver glow of the light poles shining into the night before reaching the bleachers. They’re almost overflowing, but Tamika and Sonia signal for her to join them at the third row.

“Where _were_ you?” Sonia demands while she scuffles aside, and Dominique opens her mouth just to reply with _nowhere special_. 

“Oh, _I_ know what she was doing,” Tamika smirks sagely, and Dominique’s heart collapses into itself. For a split second, she chokes on her own breath and _Joey Joey Joey_ blares through her mind— until Tamika adds, “he’s called _John Ellis_.”

It’s like the world breathes out, and Dominique breathes with it. As if on cue, John Ellis makes his way from the first row to the fifth, and Tamika and Sonia share a look.

“No way— _seriously_?” Sonia’s brows rise, and she jabs Dominique’s forearm with a chuckle. “Slow it down a bit, won’t you?”

* * *

Joey stretches.

It’s the best thing she can do, with the knot inside her chest, with her legs on the bench. She’s running through the choreography in her mind, the 8-count jumps, the first pyramid, the second, and the last moment— her moment. Lana Del Rey’s _American_ rolling through the air for the arabesque. _Her_ arabesque. Joey’s heart thumps, and she stretches further. Wipes off the rich brown gaze burning in her mind, and stands, smiles.

_Students of Grand Army, welcome to the Annual Autumn Cheer Festival!_

Her phone buzzes. Before she walks out, she lifts it to her gaze. _Unknown ID_ flashes on the messages screen, and when she clicks on the first image, her smile blanks out. Words.

_Both bases covered, huh?_

Jason’s party. Another picture. This time, it’s her. It’s her, like before, but she’s not kissing Tim, she’s kissing _Dominique_ , and Dominique’s hands are curled around her shoulders and Joey’s hands are reaching under Dominique’s—

_You’re sick. Fucking twisted. Disgusting._

Joey can’t breathe. A metallic tang burns at the tip of her tongue and she tastes lipstick— blood. Her lower lip burns, and she swallows. _Twisted. Disgusting. Sick._ It’s like her stomach has grown three sets of teeth and it’s ravaging whatever Joey has inside— if there’s anything left of herself. Somehow she’s walking towards the field to join the rest of the cheer team, someone pats her on the back and the speakers blare, _Students of Grand Army, welcome to the Annual Autumn Cheer Festival!_ again _,_ but all Joey hears is a blur and the pounding of her pulse in her skull.

It’s muscle memory. Every move, every step, every leap— even her smile. Muscle memory. When she’s in the air, she thinks of a fall. Of a spine crushed and bones splintered through a skull. The arabesque is _perfect_ , her hips are locked, and everyone claps and roars and praises. She can almost hear them, see them mouthing _sick twisted disgusting_.

Dominique’s screaming, but Joey doesn’t understand why. Blood sticks to the roof of her mouth and when her eyes flutter open, that’s when Joey realizes they were closed.

_“She’s okay.”_

_“Just dazed.”_

_“A misstep.”_

_“The show ended well, at least.”_

_“Just a small mistake.”_

“Joey— Jo, are you alright?” Dominique’s face is inches away from hers and Joey can’t help but lash out, though her hands don’t respond when she tries to move.

“Get away from me,” she chokes out, staring right at Dominique’s widened brown gaze, and her heart clenches when Dominique takes a staggering step back. “This has _nothing_ to do with you, so fuck off.”

Her team’s no longer crowding around as someone yells _give her some space_ at the same heartbeat when Joey says that to Dominique. The coach reaches Joey, and her arms pull Joey up while Dominique just stares. Joey can almost pinpoint the moment Dominique’s eyes turn infinitely darker.

“Joey, Dom’s just trying to help— she’s a friend, isn’t she?”

“She’s nothing to me,” Joey bites out roughly, shaking her head, blood roaring through her ears. “I’m fine, Coach.”

 _Sick. Twisted. Disgusting_.

“Calm down a second, Joey— that was a pretty tough fall.” Coach Ganger’s frown deepens, then she glances at Dominique. “Why don’t you go home, Dom? I’ll take it from here.”

“She’s all yours.” Dominique shrugs. She doesn’t even _look_ at Joey before turning around and walking away. The burning sensation takes over Joey’s insides, but when Coach Ganger prods her legs, nothing hurts.

“I told you, I’m fine, Coach,” Joey sighs. “I just want to go home.”

“Yeah, I don’t think you’re up for celebrating with the rest of the team tonight,” Coach Ganger nods. “Joey,” she continues then, looking at Joey with a different look in her hazel eyes. “Did Dominique do something— for you to talk to her like that?”

“What?” Joey croaks out, and she can barely hear her voice over the roar of her pulse. There’s a stretch of silence like air that splits the ground from the sky.

“Go home, Joey. You need to rest.”

“Thank you, Coach,” Joey mumbles. Everyone’s gone when she walks across the street. She’s at the edge of a car-filled intersection, when three voices call out her name.

“ _Jo_!”

“Hey, Jo!”

“You’re alive!”

It’s George, it’s Luke, and it’s Tim. They’re grinning, all relief and warmth when they hug her, and a laugh just bursts out of Joey when she finds the strength to hug them back.

“We were going to the movies,” George explains, a lopsided smile telling Joey they’ve been drinking something more than just soda. “Wanna come with?”

“Sure,” Joey nods, and takes the large cup from George’s cup, to take a long sip from the straw. Her throat burns and welcomes the alcohol at once, pooling into her stomach and eating away at the memory of Dominique’s face. _Sick twisted disgusting_. She catches Tim’s eyes. _Both bases covered, huh?_ She pointedly looks at George and Luke. “Well, what are we waiting for?”

It’s Anna’s voice Joey thinks of, telling her, _I just want everything to be normal_. Maybe Joey doesn’t want to fuck shit up and Anna _knows_ her best friend fucks everything up and _if you end up with Tim you’ll fuck him up just like you did with Dominique—_ but maybe Joey also doesn't want Anna to think she's doing her a favor by staying away from Tim. 

“I can do whatever _I_ want, and I don’t care if that pisses you off,” Joey slurs to Tim, unable to hold the laughter that streams out of her, alcohol swimming in her stomach and trickling into her head. George exclaims something inaudible to Joey, something that sounds like _you gotta tie this animal down_ as she twists in the backseat of the cab, it’s almost midnight and the movie ended an hour ago.

“I’m _saying—_ ” Joey smirks, leaning right over Tim’s face while keeping her balance in the fast-moving cab. “That if you get to do what you want, well, _so can I_ —!”

“I’m not saying you can’t,” Tim frowns and he’s far too sober for Joey’s liking. His frown deepens. The look that takes over his gaze when he adds, “ _I just don’t want to fucking watch_ ”— it chills Joey to the bone. Sickened. Twisted. _Disgusted_. Joey barely breathes, as if he just carved out her lungs and replaced them with nothing and something’s telling Joey _he did it he got those pictures he knows he knows he knows_ —

“Can you just scooch over a little?” Joey says, and her voice sounds far away from her own mouth when George moves, and she settles in front of Luke, all smiles in Tim’s direction. Luke’s mouth is sloppy, and Joey tastes something like burnt cigar on his tongue, and she continues to kiss him while George yowls with laughter and begins to record them on his phone.

“See?” Joey spits, grinning from ear to ear right at Tim. “I get to do that. I get to be able to do that.” Joey knows she’s not just talking about Luke. Maybe Tim knows that, too, but Joey needs to make sure. She has to be sure. “And you,” she mutters, feeling her brow furrowing as she leans right into Tim’s face. “ _You_ don’t get to make me feel fucking guilty, okay?”

The rest is a blur and when the cab makes a turn something begins to prick into Joey’s thighs and between her thighs— there’s sticky laughter and words like animals’ barks spilling into her ears, George and Luke’s— they’re— but Joey— their fingers are already digging into her legs, fingers that grab keys and greasy cab doors and cigarettes and gasoline containers—

“W- _wait,_ ” Joey croaks, but her voice doesn’t make a sound when she feels something like a tongue swiping right across her—

“ _George_ —” The word comes out completely _twisted_ — as if she’s enjoying it but she _isn’t_ she _isn’t_ she _hates_ _it_ and _she wants it to stop._ Empty eyes on a mirror catch her gaze and it’s the cab driver, watching the kids at the back of the cab splitting her legs open and it’s too late when she tries to whisper _Tim please help me_ but he just sits and stares out the window and it’s too late, her pulse is screaming in her ears _it’s too late_.

* * *

“Dom? _Vini isit la pou yon ti moman, souple_.” Come here, for a moment.

She cuts out the _please_ , because everything that comes out of her mother’s mouth sounds like an order. ****

“ _Oke, mamma._ ” Dominique bites through a yawn, closing the apartment door after her.

“We have guests,” her mother says in English, when Dominique reaches the living room and her heart just collapses against her ribs, pushes through her lungs. “This is Perla Toussaint, a friend of Aunt Francine. And this is her son, Ronald.” There’s this smile on her mother’s face that unsettles Dominique as she gestures for her daughter to join her on the first couch.

“We have reached this agreement,” Perla tells Dominique, her words brimming with brief delight. “Ronald needs his green card, so we’ll give you ten thousand dollars for it.”

“For— for what?” Dominique blinks, and feels her mother frowning even if she’s not looking at her.

“You’ll marry Ronald at the end of the month— just a civil union— for him to get his green card. And the money will help us _endlessly_ , Perla.” Her mother’s smile returns to her face as if it had never left, and Dominique’s heart might never return to its usual pace. She vaguely registers Ronald’s kind wave and his sincere, _it’s really nice to meet you, Dominique_.

“Everything alright, Dom?”

There’s a strange silence in the living room, and Dominique realizes the guests have left for who knows how long, and she’s alone with her mother while she’s arranging some books on a nearby shelf. She’s stopped, to stare at Dominique.

“Wh— yes, mamma. I’m glad. I’m fine.”

Joey’s eyes burn at the back of Dominique’s neck and her lips say _she’s nothing to me_ over and over in Dominique’s mind, like a broken record.

“Good.” Her mother smiles, but her eyes are softer. “We really need this money, Dom. Your aunt’s back isn’t getting any better.”

_She’s nothing to me._

“I’ll need some of it for college,” Dominique croaks, but her voice sounds normal when she says it.

“Of course, that’s okay. _Ou ap rete reveye_?” _You’ll stay awake_?

“Yeah,” Dominique nods, grabbing her bag and standing up from the couch. “I have some tests tomorrow, I’ll be studying in my room. _Istwa_.” _History_.

“ _Dòmi byen, Dommo_.”

Very lightly, her mother kisses her forehead. _Sleep well_. Dominique wishes it would’ve been a hug. Something that would’ve lasted a little longer. But her mother disappears into Dominique’s younger siblings’ room, and she’s alone.

“ _Mamma_ ,” Dominique wants to croak after her, through the lodged ache at her throat, _I don’t want to do this. I’ll do it for the money— but Mamma, I’m in love with a girl_ , _and_ … The words die at her tongue and leave the sourest taste behind her teeth, and Dominique— she does the next best thing. _Mamma, I’m in love with a girl who doesn’t want me. I’m in love with her and she hates me._

She closes the door to her room, and takes out her phone from her bag. Her eyes burn when her face appears on Dominique’s screen, on Luke’s Instagram story, and it’s her lips that are laughing and her mouth that’s kissing them, George and Luke, as if they’re taking turns— and the sight and the movements pierce Dominique right between the ribs.

Two minutes later, her phone buzzes with two messages.

_we need to stop whatever this is._

_i’m sick of it._

When Dominique types, _what?_ she’s barely breathing. Her room is dark.

_just stop talking to me and I’ll do the same._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used an English to Creole translator for some parts of Dom's conversation with her mom, but I'll be very glad to make grammar corrections in there if you find any <3 thanks so much for reading !


	5. Chapter 5

The cab still reaches its destination. Joey can’t feel her fingers when she pays the driver, and she’s also the last one to get out of the car. The engine rumbles as if nothing had happened, George and Luke and Tim jump out of the cab as if nothing had happened— as if this were any other night.

Heat and alcohol radiates from the crowding bodies in the party, but Joey just runs to the nearest bathroom and locks the door. Her mind swims through her skull. The music blasts outside, but it doesn’t swallow the roaring pulse in her ears. Blue and yellow light from the street filters through the window, but the bathroom is almost pitch-black. Her rings catch the light and swim around her eyes, and when Joey looks up at the mirror— she chokes on her own breath.

It burns and she doesn’t— she won’t do a single thing about it. Hot saliva sticks like gasoline to the edge of her throat, right at the curve of her mouth even as she tries to swallow, and her neck bobs helplessly. Something wet scalds her eyelids, her cheeks, burning right through her black mascara, and she doesn’t realize she’s crying until the sob cracks out of her. There’s a permanent sensation of falling and drowning at the same time, pounding beneath her eyeballs.

The toilet seat is cold to her skin, and it soothes her a little, until—

“ _Anyone in there_?”

Three knocks, Joey doesn’t answer. She’s choking with her own tongue while running a mess of toilet paper under the faucet. It burns and she hasn’t done anything about it. When she crouches and pulls down her shorts, there’s blood staining the cloth between her legs. It’s too dark for her to see the marks across her thighs, but they _ache_ , they’re there.

_You gotta tie this animal down!_

Joey flinches.

_Both bases covered, huh?_

Dominique’s eyes flash through her mind. Maybe they really sucked the alcohol and everything else out of her— because the pain and the realization of what was beneath Dominique’s stare at the field engulfed her like a wave. There wasn’t any hatred, or repulsion. She just looked… hurt. _You’re going to fuck everything up. That’s what you do. That’s the only thing you’re good at_.

Joey’s heart clenches into itself. _You fuck people up_. She’s trembling when she curls the bloody toilet paper into a ball and lets it flush down the toilet. She’s still crying when she wraps the torn underwear with clean paper, and stuffs it into her jacket. And her throat’s burning, if not more, when she pulls her phone out of a pocket, and does the next best thing.

_we have to stop whatever this is. i’m sick of it._

_I’m sickening_ , that’s what Joey wants to tell her. _I’m sickening and disgusting and twisted and we have to stop I don’t want to fuck you up like everyone else_.

Joey’s barely breathing when Dominique responds with, _what?_ The bathroom is pitch-black and her heartbeat drums harder than the booming music outside. Her fingers are numb, and she throws up before getting back to her phone.

She types, _just stop talking to me and I’ll do the same,_ but what she really wants to say is— _I’m sorry_.

* * *

They’re doing it, actually.

They’re not talking to each other. Or, Dominique isn’t talking to Joey, and Joey’s not talking to anyone. The weekend flashes by, and Joey wants to dig her nails into her eyes instead of going to school. Her mother’s telling her something about a dance scholarship program, but Joey’s barely feeling the water trickling down her throat or the warmth of her mother’s presence when she kisses Joey goodbye.

It’s almost winter, New York is still freezing. Joey’s not wearing any gloves. She lets the cold bite at her fingers and frost her eyelashes, wet with tears she’s struggling to keep in.

“Jo!”

“You disappeared in the weekend!”

It’s George, it’s Luke, and it’s Tim. Tim doesn’t say anything when the three of them approach at the stairs of the school building, their cheeks puffy from the cold and their gazes bright like ice.

Joey is vaguely aware that she responded with something, anything— but movement at the edge of her vision catches her eye.

Dominique is wearing black, and her skin glows. She walks up the stairs and sleek leather gloves curl around her fingers, her lips are red and full and she walks like the world belongs to her. _She’s always been like this_ , Joey thinks. _She’s always been this beautiful_. That’s why Joey doesn’t want to fuck her up. That’s why it was better this way. Still, she wishes Dominique would look to the left, just a little, she wouldn’t even need to turn her head to meet Joey’s eyes.

“ _Dommo_!”

“We missed you after the show, girl!”

Dominique’s friends greet her at the top of the stairs and she gives them a perfect smile. She never looks at Joey, not once. When Joey follows George, Luke and Tim into the building, it’s like all the air leaves her lungs and she’s left choking with the back of her tongue. No one’s looking at her, the other students are chatting amongst themselves, lockers opening and closing, sneakers squeaking across the floor, but _everyone’s looking everyone knows._

 _Everyone knows you asked for it_.

“You need mad grease after getting that rocked,” Luke says as George grins while handing her a bag of something— a glazed bagel, poppy seeds scattered all across it — and Joey takes the first bite, lets it fall out of her mouth and into her locker.

“Did you finish Gatsby?” George asks through a yawn, though there’s a touch of worry in his voice.

“Yeah, like a week ago,” Joey replies. She hopes they didn’t hear the rasp in her voice, but they’re not looking at her.

“Fuck,” George laughs, “I can’t get through it.”

“Can you give me some insights?” Tim asks. He’s standing right behind her, and even though there’s space between them, he’s right behind her.

“On the whole fucking book?” This time, Joey turns to stare at him.

“No, like— just the ending. Maybe we can FaceTime tonight, or…”

And Joey doesn’t understand why he’s talking like this _why are you acting like this when you_ —

“Wait, bro, stop for a second. Jo, for real, um…” Luke’s breath is hot and Joey wants to disappear when he leans far closer to her than before. “Look, I really wanna ask you about… something really important.” His voice drops and Joey’s not looking at them anymore, the tears are burning again, and _he’s going to talk about what happened on Friday he_ —

“Should I change my haircut to _this_ , or is it too 90s?”

Their voices blur with laughter and the bell rings, and Joey feels the smile crawling through her face as she turns around and leaves.

* * *

It’s Tuesday and Anna’s coughing through a vomit-flavored jellybean when she grins and says, “Never have I ever had an _orgy_ with my friends.”

“That’s fucked up,” George snickers, and Joey looks away from the book in her lap.

“What? Joey!” Anna laughs again, mimicking a throw in Joey’s direction. Joey can barely meet her eyes as she takes the electric blue jellybean, and puts it in her mouth. It burns, but the tears behind her eyes burn further. She feels sick.

_You’ve been rude to me. You’ve been rude to your sisters. It’s not okay and I want to talk to you about it._

Her mother’s text arrives at the start of dance practice, and Joey pulls out her phone after changing into her sweatpants. She doesn’t even recall talking back to her before, but she types it and sends it anyway.

_I’ll stay at dad’s if you don’t like my attitude. I don’t need you to tell me you’re disappointed in me. I’m aware._

“Okay— five, six, seven, eight!”

There’s a clap as Joey joins the rest of the cheer team at the court. Sneakers squeak across the wooden floor and their hips turn inside and out, knees bending and arms twisting with the rhythm of the music that booms through the speakers. Every girl on the team is wearing a sports bra and shorts, all glowing skin and sleek hair in ponytails, sharp hands and sharp moves. Joey’s wearing a gray shirt that runs down to her hips. Even if she tries to fight the slumping sensation weighing down on her limbs, the music’s too fast and everyone’s too fast and there’s this ache— no, a _burning_ , between her—

“What’s wrong? Too tired from sucking so much dick?”

Gracie’s next to her, and sweat glitters over her chest, and she’s staring at Joey with a challenge in her almond-brown eyes. Because the condom belonged to George, and Gracie knew George had torn Joey apart at the start of the weekend. Though it didn’t really look like it in Luke’s Instagram stories. It looked like Joey was having the time of her fucking _life_.

“Okay, stop, stop! Um—” One of the lead girls glances back at them, clearly overhearing Gracie’s question. “This isn’t working, it’s weak. Joey, you’re gonna have to hit the back ‘till your brain’s in it, okay?” She doesn’t wait for an answer from Joey when she adds, “Alright, let’s go again.” Everyone listens, Joey bites her lower lip when she reaches the last file, and the music resumes.

* * *

“ _Nine more to go_!” Coach Reynolds’ voice cuts through the cheerleading team’s music, and Dominique’s tongue-tip tastes sweat on her upper lip.

“Yo, why don’t I get cut abs from this shit?” Tamika smirks mid-crunch as she passes the ball to Sonia.

“Just keep going,” Sonia laughs, though a little breathless from the effort.

“Kay, so, I’m running up the hill, and I’m holding onto my belly,” Tamika suddenly starts, brows rising. “And when I get to the top, my skin starts to stretch.”

“Oh my God,” Dominique puffs, amusement tingling in her voice. “I know what’s coming.”

“And my fucking stomach _rips_ open, and this baby comes out!” Tamika exclaims, grabbing the ball from Sonia before leaning back and handing it to her again. “Only that the kid was already like one year old, and then I woke up— _sweating_.”

Sonia’s giggling, and Dominique smirks.

“Pregnancy dreams just mean you’re anxious about a big project coming up,” she tells Tamika, and counts the twenty-fifth crunch. “You’re working hard, to ‘give birth’ to something new.” 

“Yo, see!” Sonia grins from ear to ear. “ _This_ is why you’re getting that internship.”

Dominique’s heart flickers. She’d gotten the invitation on Saturday, and _tomorrow’s the big day_.

“I emailed the application yesterday,” she tells Tamika and Sonia as they’re putting the basket balls into the rack with the rest of the team, and Coach Reynolds wolf-whistles for their attention.

“Dude, they’re going to love you,” Tamika nods with a chuckle.

Dominique doesn’t know if Joey’s staring at her through the court, but she doesn’t turn around to make sure.

“It’d be nice for _someone_ to care about me like that,” Dominique retorts, and Sonia’s brows widen. “What?” Dominique frowns, though her voice is still light. “You’d be mad if some guy was ghosting you, too!”

She makes it sound like it’s John Ellis, but she’s not talking about John Ellis and she _knows_ Joey can hear her. Maybe she wants Joey to be jealous. Maybe she wants Joey to stop getting what she wants, for _once_.

Tamika laughs. “Have you called, _or_ texted him?”

“I’m not going to,” Dominique replies at the same heartbeat in which Sonia says, “He should reach out first.”

“Yeah, he should,” Dominique nods firmly. “He’s ghosting me.”

“Dommo, _you’re_ the ghost,” Tamika smirks and throws a ball in her direction.

“What—?” Dominique just throws the ball, and she’s just playing with it, but Tamika dodges and it passes right through where her head _should’ve_ been and— 

The ball slams against Joey’s spine.


	6. Chapter 6

The ball slams against her spine and Joey flinches. She whirls around, heart pounding in her throat, and Dominique’s staring right at her.

“What the _fuck_?” Joey spits, feeling her neck burning and if it’s hatred then _so be fucking it_ because _you don’t get to act like this you don’t get to act like I don’t exist_ even if Joey was the one that told her to back off. 

“Oh, _sorry_ …” Dominique replies, waving a hand dismissively. And Joey hates the way Dominique stretches out the _sorry_ with her tongue.

“No, you’re _not_ ,” Joey spats, digging her nails into the rugged ball, never breaking away from Dominique’s eyes. “You’re seriously _that_ bad of a player?” She doesn’t care that Dominique’s friends are right next to her. She doesn’t care that everyone’s staring.

“If you have a problem with me, that’s _fine_ ,” Joey barks. “But don’t come at me with this _weak-ass_ shit, alright?” She’s walking, and her arms are burning as she holds the ball and twists it between her hands, _fucking coward_ and she pushes Dominique’s chest with the ball still in her hands _I told you to stay away now deal with it—_

“Hey— _hey_!” Suddenly a voice cuts through everything and it’s the basketball coach that’s pulling them apart before Dominique can respond.

“Throwing shady looks at me all _day_ ,” Joey snarls, still holding the ball between her hands, “trying to throw a fucking _basketball_ at my head?” She slams it straight in Dominique’s direction, but one of her friends intercepts it before it can reach Dominique.

“Dominique, I need you to _focus._ You good?” The coach’s words drain out as Joey ignores the call of the lead girl in her team, and Dominique’s _I’m good_ just makes Joey burn further. She slams the door to the changing rooms behind her and everything just _burns_.

* * *

“Alright, ladies, five, six, seven, eight!”

Coach Reynolds’ voice barely reaches Dominique. She turns when nobody’s looking, she pushes the metal bar of the changing rooms and her insides clench with rage _what the fuck who the fuck does she think she is_ —

“You know _what_?” Dominique snarls as she slams the door closed behind her. “I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, but you _do not_ get to talk to me like that.” Her throat burns and it’s tears but it’s anger and she _hates_ her— “Spitting shit in my face in front of people? Then you got the nerve to come in here and fucking _hide_?” She crosses the changing rooms and reaches the very back, where the stalls are and where Joey is because Dominique _knows_ she’s there.

And Joey cages her breath between her ribs. _Fuck_. Joey curses her lungs and shuts her eyes, struggles to keep a steady grip on the toilet paper fisted in her hand. _Please don’t breathe_. Her blood pulses harder. Pushes her lungs to _breathe—_

Dominique isn’t thinking when she kicks the metal door open with a bang. Her breathing stops, hitching at her throat, when she sees Joey.

She sees them first. The marks, the bruises, sickening shades of purple and blue all across her thighs. Joey’s eyes are glazed when she looks up at Dominique, and Dominique notices the dark circles under her eyes, the runny mascara, the stains across her cheeks.

“What— what happened?” Dominique croaks, and her throat rasps when she draws in a breath. Everything else, every slur _—_ it all died in her throat. 

_Shut the door_ , Joey wants to scream, close her thighs, cover her legs— her pulse rushes and screeches in her ears and she’s back in the cab, George and Luke are sticking their tongues and their greasy fingers inside her and their eyes are _everywhere—_

“Joey,” Dominique whispers, and she’s crouching right in front of her and Joey flinches when one of Dominique’s hands reach out to her cheek. “This— this was Friday night, wasn’t it?”

 _It’s nothing_ , Joey wants to whisper back, but she can’t even look at Dominique in the eye. _I wanted it_. _I asked for it._

“You’re bleeding,” Dominique says, and her voice is the only thing that keeps Joey’s mind present. “I’m going to wet some paper, okay? I’m going— I’m going to help you.”

“You have practice,” Joey croaks when Dominique gently touches at the scratches and the bruises. The wad of paper is cold, but it doesn’t sting. She barely feels it.

“I think they’ll be alright without me for a little bit,” Dominique answers, and she briefly meets Joey’s eyes. It’s just for a heartbeat or two, then Joey leans forward and Dominique’s lips are softer than ever.

“Jo…” Dominique begins with a mumble, but doesn’t pull away.

“ _I’m sorry_ ,” Joey whispers, her voice is weak. Dominique’s breath is warm against her mouth. “I’m— I’m so sorry, Dom.”

It’s Joey, genuinely saying sorry for what might be the first time in her life. It’s Joey, crying against Dominique, not just saying sorry for what just happened at the court— she’s saying sorry for _everything_. And, maybe, it’s also Joey taking advantage of the fact that Dominique misses her so fucking much and maybe she can’t really be mad at Joey. She never was.

When Joey’s hand reaches to the back of her neck, Dominique sees the bit of hair that curls around her fingers.

“Wait, Jo,” Dominique murmurs, echoing the movement to find the spot at the lower curve of Joey’s head. “You’ve been… you’ve been pulling it?” It sounded like a question, but it wasn’t.

 _You don’t know a wet pussy, bro!_ It’s the memory of George’s voice that burns through her instead of Dominique’s. It’s the lights of New York flashing at night, flashing right into what’s happening inside a cab.

“Come on,” Dominique says quietly, helping her up. “We’re going to the infirmary.”

For once, Joey doesn’t protest.

* * *

The bell rings through the halls, and there’s an assembly. The nurse doesn’t question why Joey’s head is nestled at Dominique’s lap, or why Dominique’s fingers gently trace through Joey’s hair, by her ear. Maybe it’s because Joey’s face is swollen and red and anyone could read the pain right off her face in an instant.

“Your mom said she’ll be here in forty minutes, it’s been thirty,” Dominique tells her. Her bruises have already been tended to, and the nurse is reading some papers on her desk across them. Dominique pulls Joey’s puffy jacket a little more over Joey’s shoulders. “God,” Dominique mumbles, half to herself. “Everything is so fucked, isn’t it?” 

She’s not just talking about last Friday.

“People get blown up outside our school, and we have an assembly,” Dominique continues, and Joey nods. Dominique’s voice softens. “… Jo, I’m sorry if I’ve been a bitch.”

 _No_ , Joey tries to croak, but shakes her head instead. _You’ve done nothing wrong_.

“I saw you yesterday, and I was looking at you and I didn’t think that maybe something was— off,” Dominique whispers. “It was selfish of me, and…”

There’s a knock at the door, and it makes Joey sit up even if Dominique tries to get her to lie down again.

“Jo, are you okay? What happened?” Anna’s eyes are too round and Joey swallows. “Why are you in here?”

“I’m fine,” Joey croaks, in the same heartbeat her mother’s face appears behind Anna.

“Ms. Pierre and Ms. Delaney, you can go back to the assembly now,” the nurse tells them, and it’s clearly an order.

“I’ll text you, alright?” Anna says, but Joey barely hears her as her mother helps her up, and Dominique’s gaze doesn’t move away from hers.

Since the nurse cleaned the dry blood and the bruises, her thighs don’t ache anymore. But the memories _burn_ and even if Joey doesn't realize it, they're going to get out, sooner or later.


	7. Chapter 7

When Joey gets home, the afternoon becomes a blur. The room is dark, and Joey flinches when her phone buzzes.

Anna’s sent at least seven different messages and tried to FaceTime her, just like Tim. She’s saying, _lemme know if you want me to come over_ and a red heart and then Gracie, asking _hiii are you ok????_ out of the blue and that’s when Joey puts the phone down. Silence. Then, through the dark, when her eyes open again, her phone buzzes again. Just once. One message.

 _i’m here for you. if you need anything. or if you’re bored and just want to kill some time_ — at this, a weak smile tugs at Joey’s lips— _I’ll be here, okay?_

The television blares in the background.

_Then perhaps we might have had a middle-aged woman with an appropriate amount of experience in the White House, instead, as we do, a man who openly admitted to sexually assaulting vulnerable young women because he could!_

Joey grimaces, moves away the packet of ice on the back of her head. The door creaks open and it’s Nina’s voice, her younger sister, saying, “I need your gray sports bra.”

“No, Nina.” Joey groans and shuts her eyes further. “ _Nina_ ,” Joey tries to get her attention, but Nina’s already making her way through her room to rummage on the first drawer of Joey’s room. “Nina—”

The sound is almost nothing. It’s almost nothing, the single crinkle of a plastic bag at the furthest corner of the drawer. And it’s more than enough to make Joey jump up from her bed, against the ache of her limbs and the clenching of her insides—

“What the fuck is this?” Nina frowns, peering at the ziploc bag in eye level.

Cold realization takes over Joey, the lights of the cab and New York and their fingers crawling right through her thighs and when she blacks out she doesn’t even hear Nina crying out her name.

When she wakes up, she’s sobbing against her mother’s lap, and her throat burns dry.

“Hey,” her mother whispers, running a hand across Joey’s hair. “It’s okay, Jo, come on.” Joey struggles to hear her mother’s voice over the pounding sound of blood rushing through her ears. “What’s going on?”

Joey chokes. She sees Dominique’s face twisted with pain and even horror at the bathroom stall, hears Luke and George moaning her name, swiping their tongues at her center, nails digging into her thighs, _sick twisted disgusting sick twisted disgusting_ —

“They— they _raped_ me, mom,” Joey croaks, and it sounds like she’s vomiting the words out. The TV blares as if nothing were happening on the other side of the screen, in the dark room, on the sofa, in Joey’s heart and Joey’s body.

 _And the moral of the story is, “We don’t give a shit.”_ The woman speaking begins to scream the next words. _We don’t give a fuck about women or children! We only care about a man’s reputation._

“Who?” Her mother whispers, and it pulls Joey to the present. Her lips are trembling and she struggles to form the next three words.

“It was— it was George.” _And Luke. And Tim_. 

Her mother’s _what?_ sounds like a breath, because she knows George and it's just something she doesn’t understand at the first heartbeat, until she does.“When?”

“After— after the autumn show, we went and saw this movie together, mom—” Joey croaks, and she’s not aware of her fingers and shoulders trembling until her mother’s arms hold her closer, and her hands reach Joey’s cheeks, tears are staining her own.

“… Are you sure?”

Joey’s stomach drops like a stone at the next words, just a whisper. But to Joey it feels like a scream and it pierces straight through her ribs.

“They pinned me down in the cab,” Joey hisses, her throat burning raw as she falls away from her mother’s embrace and stands, as if making sure she’s still alive, even if her voice has never been weaker. “And _Tim_ —” the words crack. “… He just— he just _watched_ —”

“Okay, sweetheart, okay—” Her mother’s arms wrap around Joey again before she can collapse.

“ _Please,_ don’t tell dad,” Joey pleads, her insides twisting into each other as the tears just stream through her eyes.

“No, no,” her mother whispers, holding the back of Joey’s head with her palm. All Joey knows is she feels small and she can still hear the TV blaring in the background, the screen being the only light in the room.

_Now, look, I think she’s lost control of the tension._

* * *

“It’s a contract. Like in business.”

Dominique doesn’t register her mother’s words until she says _business_.

“Then, you sign another one, and it ends.” Her mother’s eyes are _round_ , and _sure_ , and _listen_. When Dominique doesn’t nod or say anything, her mother adds, voice lowering by an octave, “I don’t know what else to do.”

She pauses as Dominique sighs, and picks up her phone on the table.

“He’s nice-looking. He’s been in the US since he was a little boy.” She hands the phone to Dominique, and she sees the screen displaying a face with dark eyes and dark hair. Dominique’s stomach sinks as she realizes she hasn’t said anything to her mother— _or to Joey_. 

“Ten thousand dollars could help us for a long time, Dom. We wouldn’t have to worry about your aunt, about school, you wouldn’t have to drop out to work, Dante is too young to work—”

“He’s _fourteen_ ,” Dominique mutters, and this time, she meets her mother’s eyes. Something inside Dominique just wishes she could tear the contract apart without even having to look at it. “He could help. He _could_ —”

“ _Tanpri, pa leve vwa ou_.” Her mother frowns. _Lower your voice._ Dominique cuts out the ‘please’, because it’s clearly an order. Her mother’s voice hardens, and Dominique can’t— won’t stand this anymore.

“It wouldn’t be real,” her mother continues, getting up from the table as Dominique moves to fold some jackets over the chair. “You know I would do it, if I could.”

 _But you can’t_. _You don’t even know that I’m—_ Dominique swallows _just shut up now_. She fears her mother will hear the thumping of her heart over her little brother and sister’s chatter at the other end of the living room. But she just wraps a scarf around Dominique’s neck— a scarf her mother sowed on her own last winter.

“It’s not just about the money,” her mother murmurs, her gaze is round. “You’d be helping someone stay here, a whole other family. That says a lot about who you are, Dominique.”

 _But it’s not who I want to be_. Dominique feels the tears burning long before they form at the edges of her eyes when her mother adds, “And I love who you are.”

Something cracks inside Dominique because _you don’t know me_ and _I don’t even know me_. The only thing she croaks out is, “Okay, mamma.” And she’s thinking of Joey and the bruises and the look in Joey’s eyes when Dominique found her in the bathroom stall and— “ _Mwen renmen w tou_.”

_I love you, too._

For the first time, the words feel foreign in Dominique’s tongue. When she kisses her mother goodbye, she grabs her coat and leaves. The New York air chips at her ears while she puts on her headphones and crosses the streets, checking her phone.

Two messages.

 _Hey, it’s been a while since we last talked_. John Ellis.

The next one stirs something in Dominique. Everything.

 _I told my mom_. Joey.

Dominique lets out a faint breath, it mists as she presses play into the podcast she started yesterday. The woman’s voice soothes her, but the words don’t.

 _The original definition of courage, when it came into the English language, it’s from the Latin word cor, meaning heart. And the original definition was to tell the story of who you are with your whole heart_.

She would sign the contract. She would marry Ronald at the end of the month. She would tell her friends today before the interview at six, and… and she would tell Joey.

_These folks, had, very simple: the courage to be imperfect._

* * *

The pale blue unsettles her. It’s on the walls, on the curtains, on the bed— fuck, even the lights have the strange pale glow to them, and the clinical robe curled over Joey’s shoulders. The PA blares across the hospital, _Dr. Patel to oncology_ , _Dr. Patel to oncology,_ and Joey feels small as she sits on the mattress. She tries to keep her gaze on one single thing, the black dot on the wall, tries to avoid looking at the instruments of all shapes and sizes on the desks in front of her.

There’s a knock, and a doctor comes in with a paper cup of water. She hands it to Joey, her face doesn’t change. “Can I do anything to make you more comfortable?”

 _No_. She just shakes her head, stares down at the cup and the water, reflecting the pale lights above.

“Joey.” The doctor’s voice becomes more serious, then. “Nothing will happen without your consent. Okay?”

The water she swallows dries at her throat, and Joey nods. The sounds of crunching paper fill the room as the doctor pulls out the stained underwear, and puts it in a bag labeled _Joanna Del Marco_ in black ink. Joey doesn’t know where to look, she doesn’t blink. She thinks of Dominique, wonders if she knows today is Valentine’s day, if she cares about it, if she remembers.

* * *

The waiting room at the Sisters Thrive Group building is full, but not overflowing. Dominique’s trying to focus on the numbers in front of her, the calculator display on her phone, the numbers under _need_ and those next to the headcount, _MetroCard_ and _rent_ , the decimals and the dollar signs.

But there’s a family gushing together in front of her seat, the father’s chuckling and telling his son, _they just get more romantic every day_ , and Dominique frowns inwardly. There was nothing important about today— some pictures taken at school in the morning, nothing mandatory.

_I told my mom._

She can almost hear Joey’s voice whispering those four words. She wonders how much she told her mother, if she told her everything or just pieces of it, if she would ever—

“Dominique Pierre?” The secretary calls, peering above her desk.

As she walks into the interviewing room, Dominique thinks of a green card. The color of money.

* * *

“I’m going to ask you to place your feet up in the stirrups when you’re ready.”

She’s not really aware she’s breathing as she lies down facing the ceiling. Blood rushes in her ears, and Joey swallows. Her hand reaches for the spot under her head, at the beginning of her neck, and pulls the hair until it tears. It stings, and she grimaces, but it helps her stay present. It helps her listen.

“You okay, Joey?” The doctor asks, standing at the end of the mattress. “We can stop, if you want.”

“No, I’m okay,” Joey rasps. She lifts her feet into the stirrups, the metal's cold to the touch.

“Is it okay if I lift your gown a bit?”

Joey wants to scream _do it get over it already_ but she just nods. The doctor shifts the pale gown away a little, Joey chews on her inner cheek and lets her head rest to one side.

“As I explained before, I’m going to take some pictures.”

A camera clicks once, twice. The flash bites at her eyes, she blinks hard every time the shutter clicks.

“Okay.” The doctor draws in a breath, looks directly at Joey. “You can tell me if you want me, or need me to stop, at any time.”

She doesn’t think of the school, of how everyone must look when the officers arrive to take George and Luke to the detention center, of Anna’s face when they take Tim, too. Anna’s screams, _where are you taking them you can’t do this—_

But Joey just doesn’t think.

“We’re taking swabs of the inside of your vagina now, is that okay?” The doctor glances up again, puts the camera away.

“Mhm,” Joey mumbles. Her knuckles feel cold when she presses them to her cheek. But then something just _jabs_ and Joey grimaces _what the fuck_ —

“I know, we’re almost done. Just keep breathing,” the doctor says, her voice is sharper, now. _Listen. Breathe_. Joey’s head falls back as she feels the pressure between her thighs and tastes blood in her mouth. “Almost done. Just try to let your knees fall to the side, more.”

And Joey is really trying her fucking best because _you can’t stop now_ but—

“I can’t,” Joey croaks, the words blurting out of her mouth at the same heartbeat a tear burns down her cheek. “I'm sorry.”

“Okay, that’s okay.” The doctor recedes, her voice is soft. “Breathe, Joey, okay? I’m going to remove the speculum now, and you’re going to feel a bit of pressure—”

It _burns._ Then it’s over.

“Okay, all done.” There’s relief in the doctor’s voice, there’s relief washing over Joey as she nods in return. She tries to close her eyes, but she can’t, she thinks of the words _rape kit_ over and over, turning them around in her mind, as if their meaning would change— as if everything would change.

“Alright, I’ll leave you to dress.”

Joey breathes out. She sits up, looks at the clock, it’s barely 8.10 am. Class has already begun, and she’s trembling.

* * * 

All it takes, is a couple of words. A sentence. 

_ You're such a fucking slut.  _

**Author's Note:**

> hope you'll enjoy <3


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